THE MINUTE-MAN IN A SNOWDRIFT. 47 



northern sky burning through them. Mist 

 effects, and glimpses of distances through driv- 

 ing snowflakes are fascinating, because they 

 leave much to the imagination. Views of clear 

 sunset skies, radiant with color, ranks of leafless 

 trees showing black against the snow, peaks 

 of snow growing bluer as night draws on 

 these also are fascinating, because the eye 

 seems to gain the truth about whatever it rests 

 upon. Everything is clean-cut, sharply out- 

 lined against sky or snow, sincere, real, satis- 

 fying. 



Sunday, the 8th, was as warm and still a 

 day as the month of March is capable of pro- 

 ducing. From early morning until late in the 

 afternoon there was not breeze enough to rustle 

 a leaf, much less to cool cheek and eye smarting 

 under the direct and reflected rays of the sun. 

 I took an early train to Bedford and began my 

 walk there, not because of the charms of Bed- 

 ford, but because the train went no further. 

 Bedford is a pleasant, old-fashioned village, in 

 the midst of a comparatively flat country. 

 Walking through the village I noticed its high- 

 shouldered and many windowed meeting-house, 

 its haughty elms, and its air of ancient respecta- 

 bility. Five miles away, said a weather-worn 

 guide board, is Concord town ; so I turned west- 

 ward, feeling sure that early spring birds must 



